


only feels good while moving

by anarchetypal



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - GTA AU, Blow Jobs, Car Sex, Choking, M/M, Rimming, Sex on a Car, Street Racing AU, or well technically
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-08
Updated: 2015-07-08
Packaged: 2018-04-08 08:45:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4298265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anarchetypal/pseuds/anarchetypal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Ray says you can drive,” Geoff comments, so casual it almost throws Ryan off for a second.</p>
<p>“All of us can drive,” Ryan says uncertainly, and that’s true—even Gavin, and there’s a reason they don’t put him in races too often.</p>
<p>But Geoff shakes his head. “No,” he murmurs, and he’s pushing the keys into Ryan’s hand, closing his fingers shut over them. “Ray says you can <i>drive</i>.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	only feels good while moving

**Author's Note:**

> (aka ryan and geoff have sex on the hood of a car; aka ryan takes geoff for a ride and then geoff takes ryan for one)
> 
> this is part of a gta verse street racing au (and a vaguely fast and furious au) that gets some (mostly image-based inspiration) attention on my blog here: http://anarchetypal.tumblr.com/tagged/hot-rod-angels

It's hot in the garage.

It's hot everywhere in the city this part of the summer—heat rolls off the pavement in shimmering waves and stray dogs fight over shaded areas, and it doesn't seem to matter how much Ryan fucks with the AC because he's still reaching for water every few minutes.

The garage became a second home sometime in the lazy weeks where May rolled into June, when Ryan was tackling repairs and restorations for the crew that spanned long, long hours until Michael and Jack hauled in a small cot from who knew where after finding Ryan asleep in one of the cars he'd been fixing up for probably the third time that week. And after getting the cot, most days it doesn't make much sense to pack up for his apartment when he finally finds a stopping place near two in the morning, usually.

Geoff likes to joke that Ryan sees the sun even less frequently than Ray does most weeks.

And there's probably some truth to that. The garage never feels cramped and the work never gets boring—even if it gets frustrating, sometimes, like when Gavin sheepishly rolls up in a ride that needs cosmetic repairs _again_ because he keeps sideswiping shit.

But it's hot in the garage today, stifling and humming and Ryan's skin itches with it. He's elbow-deep in the workings of one of Geoff's cars, hair tied back and a couple layers lighter than what he'd started the day in, tank top stained with oil and grease and sweat, and to be honest he's half considering packing it in once he's finished with this despite the fact it's still just the middle of the afternoon.

Geoff comes in through the side door, not the big garage sliders, and lets in a blast of cool air from the main building that makes Ryan straighten up.

"Hey," he greets when Geoff doesn't say anything, just watches him thoughtfully from the doorway for a few seconds before he steps completely into the garage and shuts the door behind him.

Geoff never looks affected by the heat, though there's a slight burn on the bridge of his nose, probably from being out with Jack and following up on mentions of races coming up in the next few days. Geoff likes to get an idea of who's racing when and in what around the city so he can put in the right people from their team in the right races—he's got a whole system in his head, Ryan knows, and he's rarely wrong with his assignments.

"How's it coming along?" Geoff asks, gesturing at the engine.

Ryan pulls a face at it. "Better than when you brought it in to me," he says, and Geoff laughs, unapologetic. Fuck if he knows exactly how Geoff manages to fuck up his engines so hard sometimes, but repairs for Geoff never fail to give him a challenge, so that's something. "Almost done, actually. Why? You need it tonight?"

"Might," Geoff says, eyes doing that middle-distance thing they do when he's rearranging cars and drivers and races in his mind. He walks over to where Ryan's leaned over the car, working at a stubborn valve that keeps slipping in his oil-slick fingertips. After a few seconds of frustrated fumbling, he lets Geoff shoulder him out of the way and watches while he twists it free with ease.

"Alright, well—"

"You loosened it for me?" Geoff supplies, eyes creasing.

"Obviously. Give me that."

For a few minutes, they work together, shoulders and hands brushing while Ryan murmurs the occasional instruction, and when they step away, Geoff's hands are streaked black.

"Turn it over?" Ryan says, and Geoff does, and he gets that familiar, satisfied hum in the center of his chest when the engine comes to life. Geoff grins at him, and Ryan finds he's smiling back, companionable and content and ready to retreat to someplace that doesn't always smell like hot metal and oil.

But Geoff's still hovering, which is different for him—usually when he shows up, he's quick to say what he needs to say and head out, always busy, always moving onto the next thing, always shouldering twenty-five hours of work in a twenty-four hour day.

When Geoff closes the distance between them, Ryan thinks for a moment that they're about to fuck in the garage—they haven't yet, but it's only a matter of time, Ryan's sure of it, and it's hot and Geoff's so close and Ryan's been wanting to touch him since the moment he walked into the garage—but then Geoff's fingers slip into his pocket and come up with a set of keys.

"Ray says you can drive," he comments, so casual it almost throws Ryan off for a second.

"All of us can drive," Ryan says uncertainly, and that's true—even Gavin, and there's a reason they don't put him in races too often.

But Geoff shakes his head. "No," he murmurs, and he's pushing the keys into Ryan's hand, closing his fingers shut over them. "Ray says you can _drive_."

——

The thing about Geoff is he grew up here, raised on paved streets and painted lines and quarter-mile drags and the smell of burning tire on tarmac.

Ryan grew up someplace else.

They're in one of Geoff's cars, a heavily-altered Adder that Ryan's familiar with in all ways and all angles except from behind the wheel, until now. He's fixed it up more times than he can count, from cosmetic shit to serious repairs, and so he frowns when it shudders a little when he puts it into third; he glances at Geoff accusingly but Geoff's all innocence, and Ryan supposes it's nothing bad enough that it can't wait to be looked at later.

He spends the drive out of the city getting used to how the car handles. It's not made for what he's planning on doing with it, and the tires aren't gonna be happy, but it's not bad, and he says as much.

Geoff grins at him, comfortable in the passenger seat. "With all the work that you've put into it? No shit. It's great."

"Might have to take it off your hands," Ryan says casually, and he's kidding, but Geoff raises an eyebrow at him regardless.

"Like fuck you're taking my car."

" _Your_ car?" Ryan says, just to watch Geoff scowl.

"Yeah, _my_ car."

"With all the work that I've put into it—"

"With all the _money_ that _I've_ put into it—"

"Dirty money," Ryan puts in mildly.

"Pull over," Geoff says, and he's huffing, sulking, but Ryan just laughs at him and peels off the highway. They're in the boonies now, on a road that was probably paved sometime before the dawn of the first millennium, it makes the car jitter so hard. It goes right up along an embankment that spills out onto sprawling flatland, miles of unpaved dirt that'll probably be home to construction in the next couple years but for now offers a pretty good setting for the kind of driving he wants to show off.

Geoff's getting restless in the passenger's seat, fidgeting and impatient and ready for something to happen.

Ryan can give that to him.

"Seatbelt," he says. When he glances over, Geoff's raising an eyebrow at him, so he bites down on a smile and adds, "For _safety_ ," with wide, earnest eyes.

And Geoff snorts, incredulous, but Ryan hears the click of the belt sliding into place a moment later. "Are you kidding?" Geoff mutters, shaking his head. "You've gone like fifty miles an hour this whole way. What's the point of dropping 800K on a sports car if you're just gonnaaaa _aaaaAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!_ "

"Shh," Ryan says mildly, fighting a grin as the car continues to careen down the embankment. Geoff's shriek tapers off into something like a whimper once Ryan pulls the car back onto flat ground, a thick cloud of dust behind them.

He urges the Adder faster and whips it around to face the expanse of land in front of them—it fishtails a little, tires kicking up another little cloud of dust, and he counter steers to straighten it out. It doesn't take long to get a feel for the weight of the car at higher speeds, and pretty soon he's fallen into an easy focus he hasn't experienced in years.

The car slides too easy on the dirt, little traction for the tires, but this feels like home, feels like long stretches of dirt road bracketed by farm land, pushing an old car so hard the steering wheel shakes, enough invincibility in his veins to go for stupid, dangerous tricks.

So he uses the ground to his advantage, pushes fishtails into drifts and sends the car into ridiculous, controlled spins just to show off, and he's not as heavy-footed as he used to be when he was a teenager, but it's not long before he's got the Adder up to an easy two hundred miles an hour.

Geoff's wide-eyed in the passenger seat, gripping white-knuckled at whatever he can hold onto. "I didn't say for you to kill us!" he shouts, and Ryan's laughing, all exhilarated adrenaline.

There are two big cement poles a ways in front of them, standing out against the flat backdrop of the area even at this distance. Ryan judges the space between them, a slow grin tugging at his mouth.

"Five hundred bucks says I can get us between those posts up there going backwards," he says, maybe bouncing in his seat a little in the prospect of the self-imposed challenge. There's enough space, but it'd be a tight fit even if he was going thirty miles per hour, let alone the steadily-climbing-towards two fifty they're at now. He doesn't wait for Geoff to respond, just hits the gas harder, pushes the Adder as far as it can go.

"What?" Geoff lets out a slightly hysterical little laugh. "No! Jesus!"

"What, too steep? Two hundred, then."

"Ryan—"

"One fifty."

"Fuck, wait—"

"Ready?"

"No, no, no, no," Geoff's chanting, sinking down in his seat. There's a faint thumping noise that sounds like he's trying to press down on a brake pedal he doesn't have.

Ryan blocks him out, has eyes only for the space between the posts. The Adder's at its top speed now, and everything's passing by in a blur. When he gets close enough, he ignores Geoff's shouts and wrenches the steering wheel hard.

Everything slows down.

The car swings into a neat one-eighty as the tires scream against the pavement and he lets off on the accelerator—he straightens it out quick before the momentum takes it all the way around, dropping gears quick and then reversing to slide the Adder between the cement posts cleanly, only barely nicking off some of the paint on one of the side view mirrors.

There's dust in the air when Ryan hits the brakes, jerking the car to a stop with a little less finesse than he'd planned. Geoff's breathing hard in the passenger seat, mouth open, eyes big.

Ryan grins at him. "Hey."

"Where the fuck did you learn to _drive?_ " Geoff's voice is high and a little breathless.

"Rural Georgia."

"That would explain it."

"You okay?"

"I'm terrified," Geoff says, running a hand down his face, "and very turned on."

Ryan laughs, but then there's the click of a seatbelt, and Geoff's hand fisting in his shirt and dragging him in for a hot, rough kiss that Ryan's swept up in before he even realizes what's happening, teeth clicking, the center console an awkward obstacle between them.

Geoff breaks the kiss after biting at Ryan's lips so hard he hisses a little, and stretches across the interior to open Ryan's door, letting sunlight and dust motes and heat pour into the car. "Out, out, get out, go," he says, withdrawing to push his own door open.

"What?" Ryan's still laughing, thrown off, and he brings a hand up to thumb at his lower lip. Bleeding. Great. "Geoff, what—"

"There's no fuckin' space in here," Geoff grumbles, and gives Ryan a solid shove that nearly sends him spilling out of the car onto the ground.

He stumbles out of the Adder and barely gets his footing before Geoff's out and Dukes-of-Hazarding across the hood to fist his hands in Ryan's shirt again. " _Geoff_ ," he tries again, exasperated, but Geoff cuts him off with a kiss that's so deep he can't quite think straight by the end of it.

Geoff gets him sitting on the hood somewhere between one kiss and the next, the metal hot through his jeans from the engine and the late afternoon sun. He's still wired on adrenaline and, god, the summer heat is cloying and choking already but he still wants Geoff on him, pulls him closer until he's leaning against the car a little, standing between Ryan's legs, every point of contact between them like a white-hot brand, like a thousand volts. It doesn't seem to matter how many times they do this—against the wall in Ryan's apartment, in Geoff's bed, in the bathroom of the seediest bar Ryan's ever been in—touching Geoff like this, kissing him, has never once been anything less than electrifying.

When Geoff finally breaks away, Ryan struggles to get enough breath to suggest getting back in the car and driving— _somewhere_ , Ryan's apartment, Geoff's place, the _garage_ , fuck, anyplace with enough space to get off comfortably—

But then Geoff's shifting back, _down_ , and. Oh. This is different.

Ryan looks at Geoff kneeling there in the dirt and something jolts in him; he chokes on a breath and bites his lower lip and forgets how to speak or think or _breathe_ and Geoff hasn't even fucking _started_ yet, and fuck if the asshole doesn't know exactly how much this is affecting Ryan already, because he looks up at him and grins and takes his sweet fucking time undoing Ryan's jeans.

By the time Geoff finally, finally gets his cock out, half-hard already, Ryan's bowstring tight, wanting Geoff to put his goddamn money where his mouth is—or his mouth where his money is—or _whatever_ , Jesus, and he's got his palms flat against the hot hood of the car while he watches Geoff lean in.

The slow, hot slide of Geoff's mouth coaxes a whimper from him, and it's everything he can do not to rock his hips forward or tangle his hands in Geoff's hair. He almost does, once, and Geoff backs off and gives him a look and says _sit still, there we go, good, good_ , and Ryan thinks maybe this isn't so different after all.

Struggling to stay quiet, he bites his lip until Geoff swallows him down completely, and then he's sucking in a breath and crying out, head falling back as the thick air around them mixes with the pleading noises Ryan can't hold in anymore. He loses it eventually, drops his careful control and reaches for Geoff when he's so close it's almost painful, so close his whole world has become the single-minded focal point of Geoff's perfect mouth on his cock.

He slides his fingers into Geoff's hair, damp with sweat, and doesn't miss the way Geoff's eyelashes flutter with the contact.

But Geoff's got impeccable timing, honed by a lifetime of ten-second races, and he uses it to pull off of Ryan's cock just before he can manage to come.

Ryan's ears ring in the aftermath; he feels his release fall away before he can claim it and his whole body shakes with the need of it. As he watches Geoff get to his feet, he realizes he's gasping, breathing out _please, please, please_ until Geoff leans in and hushes him, silences him with a kiss that grounds him slowly, pulls him back from the edge.

"You're an asshole," he mutters into Geoff's mouth, but Geoff just laughs and tugs a little at Ryan's jeans and shifts to murmur in his ear.

"Oh, you're gonna come, don't worry," he says, and his voice, low and thick with promise, sends a shudder through Ryan. "But not until I get to fuck you."

" _Christ_ ," Ryan groans helplessly, and he could come just from the promise of that, he could, but then the heat of Geoff's body leaves him entirely. He sits up a little straighter, dazed, and turns to watch Geoff open the passenger side door and start rooting around for something, for— "Geoff," Ryan says slowly.

"Hm?"

"Are you— Do you keep lube in your glove box?" he asks, incredulous and a little exasperated.

"I keep lube in a lot of places."

"That's...reassuring," Ryan says, shutting his eyes and reaching up to scrub a hand through his hair with a sigh.

Slamming the door shut, Geoff grins and waves the packet of lube at him. "Turn around and bend over," he says, and it's probably meant to be joking, teasing, but Ryan shivers and flushes deep red and starts to shift into place.

He hears the click of Geoff's throat as he swallows, and suddenly there's a hand on the back of his neck, firm and hot and insistent. Geoff bends him over the hood of the car and pulls his jeans and boxers down around his ankles. It's humiliating, a little, and he's intensely glad they're in the middle of bumfuck nowhere, nobody to see the way he's exposed—unless they happen to drive by. He leans on his elbows, the hood hot and stiff beneath him, and lets Geoff kick his legs apart a bit more and ruck the back of his tank top up.

Geoff trails open-mouthed kisses down his spine, and the farther down he goes, the more Ryan squirms. He jolts when Geoff nips at the soft skin of his lower back, body jerking against the hood of the Adder.

Geoff speaks against Ryan's skin, teeth dragging harshly between words. "Don't dent my car," he murmurs, sounding smug. "You're the one who's gonna have to fix it."

"Your car?" Ryan manages to gasp out, more on principle than anything else.

But, " _My_ car," Geoff repeats, voice low and firm, and then he spreads Ryan open and uses the broad flat of his tongue to lick a slow stripe over Ryan's hole.

Ryan jerks, letting out a choked cry that fades to a whimper when Geoff just repeats the motion, again and again until he's pleading again, for—Christ, he doesn't know. His knees buckle as Geoff works him over, the wet, insistent heat working him open until everything's sensitive.

It's _so much_ , and Ryan's panting, struggling to just stay on his feet, cheek pressed against the hood of the Adder. His breath leaves little clouds of condensation on the paint job. Geoff goes slow, like he has all the time in the world, like they're not _outside_ , not far from the road, where fucking _anybody_ could drive by and see them.

There's something exhilarating about that.

He's got his palms pressed flat against the hood, so hard his wrists ache, so hard he might very well end up leaving dents in the car—but he can't quite stop the way his hips rock back, chasing Geoff's mouth. Can't quite stop the embarrassed rush of heat to his face when Geoff chuckles at his eagerness, low and warm against his skin.

Again, Geoff gets him right up to the point of orgasm before pulling away, like he's got an innate sense for it, and maybe he does. Ryan sobs with it this time, the broken noise tearing from him before he can help himself. His body shakes with helpless arousal and frustration and exhaustion, and he wonders, a bit hysterically, just how long Geoff is going to string him out like this.

The only consolation is that Geoff looks nearly as wrecked as Ryan does when he glances back over his shoulder at him. They're both sweating, both gasping for breath, and Geoff's eyes are bright and a little glassy. Ryan has to wonder what he looks like himself, bent over the Adder with his jeans down around his ankles, cock hard and flushed and hanging heavy with the need to be touched.

There's a part of him that thinks he's so wet already that lube is overkill, but he hears the packet tear open not long after the rip of a condom wrapper. He shifts, turning his head back again, but this time Geoff tangles a hand in his hair and uses the hold to force his gaze back down.

The fingers of his other hand stretch him open, quick and so rough a whimper starts to build in his throat, but fuck if Geoff's fingers aren't perfect, long and precise and thick enough that Ryan feels every small movement. Later, he might think to be embarrassed about the way he whines in protest when Geoff removes his fingers.

The head of Geoff's cock finally, _finally_ nudges against his hole like the best and worst kind of tease, but doesn't press forward, like Geoff's waiting for something.

Ryan's pretty sure of what he wants.

"Fuck me," Ryan says—begs, because that's where he's at now, no other way to describe it. His hips push back against Geoff's cock desperately, shame eclipsed almost entirely by need now. "Geoff, fuck me, please, _please_ —"

He chokes on his own words when Geoff suddenly presses into him, a strangled intake of breath that leaves him in a cry. And now Geoff doesn't waste time, just starts fucking into him quick and deep and rhythmic until Ryan can barely take a full breath.

Geoff lets go of his hair to get both hands on his hips, grip bruising, and it's not long before Ryan's collapsed completely against the hood of the Adder, arms and legs barely supporting him anymore—the smell of hot metal is thick in his throat, and, Christ, that's going to become a thing, isn't it, he's never going to be able to work on this car again without getting turned on.

He's so hard he's a little dizzy with it, but there's no way he can come like this, not without a hand on his cock. Just when he's about to shift and reach to stroke himself off, Geoff thrusts in so deep Ryan whimpers, seeing stars, and then presses himself flush against Ryan's back, mouth down by his ear.

"Fuck, you're so good," he murmurs, and that plus the knowledge that Geoff's voice is fucked from sucking him off makes Ryan let out a shuddering breath as he squirms, pinned between the bulk of Geoff's body and the hood of the car. Geoff's hips roll against him just enough to send little pulses of arousal straight to his cock, and somehow he manages to pull himself together enough to beg Geoff to touch him, words jumbled and stuttered and ruined by desperation.

There's a part of him that thinks, for a moment, that Geoff isn't going to, that he's going to be forced to come like this or not at all.

But then Geoff does, wraps a hot, slick hand around Ryan's cock and jerks him in tandem with each thrust. He lets out a low, helpless moan as the other hand cups his throat, fingers splayed out and digging in a little as Geoff uses the hold to lift his head, to arch his back as he's choked.

Ryan doesn't come until he's desperate for breath, until the lack of air has him feeling everything ten times more intensely as before. Geoff, with his incredible, impossible timing, releases his neck so that Ryan has just enough time to suck in a ragged breath before he comes over Geoff's fingers, body shaking.

Geoff fucks him through it, chasing his own release, and there's a minute or so of sharp, sweet overstimulation that leaves Ryan writhing until Geoff comes, biting down hard at his shoulder to muffle a groan.

Ryan's ears ring in the aftermath, feeling Geoff's chest rise and fall against his back as they both work to catch their breaths. There are streaked handprints and dust all along the paintjob of the Adder's hood.

"I'm not washing your car," is all Ryan can think to say, and Geoff laughs, high and exhausted, against the back of his neck.

——

They blast the AC on the drive back into the city. The high energy from earlier has yielded to something slow and easy as the sun starts to set, glinting in the mirrors and painting the sky fiery. Ryan focuses on the vibrating rumble of the car, the low hum of tires that underscores the music filtering in through the speakers, some old Sam Cooke song Geoff tuned into and then cranked up.

Geoff's driving, because Ryan can barely keep his eyes open where he's sprawled out in the passenger's seat. He's got this smug, satisfied expression on his face Ryan only ever sees at the successful end of a tough race, and Ryan can't quite decide whether he wants to punch it off or kiss it off.

Geoff turns to look at him. His expression softens, goes fond. "Still can't believe you can drive like that," he says.

"Still can't believe you keep lube in your glove box."

"Condoms, too," Geoff says proudly, grinning. "But are you complaining?"

"You have six cars," Ryan muses wonderingly, mostly to himself. "Do you keep lube in _all_ of them?"

Geoff rolls his eyes. "Want you to show Jack how you drive," he says, never to be distracted for very long.

Ryan glances over at him. "Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"We had this huge used car dealership in town where I grew up," Ryan says after a moment. "Had to drive over an hour to get to the nearest movie theater, but we could get at any car we wanted in ten minutes. Turned this big, empty barn into an impromptu chop shop. Should've seen my first car. Frankenstein’s monster, all rigged up from eight different rides." He grins, remembering. "Took me all summer to get it put together. Every night the weather was good we'd all take our cars way out in the fields and run races, dare each other into stupid tricks."

"Tricks you were good at."

"Tricks I was _great_ at." Ryan pauses, rolling his eyes. "No, lucky the worst that ever happened was a kid would land in the hospital every once in a while, honestly. Learned plenty, but we were all reckless assholes."

"Good to know that's changed so much," Geoff mutters.

Ryan grins at him. "Hey, now. That wasn't that bad."

"Sliding around in the dirt like that like a fucking ice rink."

"Asphalt gives you support, but there's a lot of freedom in dirt roads," Ryan says defensively. "Don't knock it."

"Oh, I'm not knocking it," Geoff says. His eyes are doing that middle-distance thing, thoughtful and calculating. Ryan wonders when he started noticing that, and when he started liking it—when he started liking all of Geoff's little idiosyncrasies so much. "Let me take you to dinner."

"Yeah?" Ryan asks, raising an eyebrow.

"Yeah." Geoff looks over at him and grins, sends a thrill of anticipation up Ryan's spine. "There's a race I wanna talk to you about."


End file.
